


Love Me Like You Do

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: Shameless fluff is what I do best so have some more of the same recycled trope because they are just THAT fluffy.
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Love Me Like You Do

It’s hot. Just as hot as Vegas and yet it feels different. It feels like vacation when she’s here, like escape. She wears tank tops and shorts, jean ones with pockets. He can’t take his eyes off her when she dresses that way. She slips into tan boat shoes, stuffs her phone into her shoulder bag, pops sunglasses on her face and they are ready to go. Her curls are amplified here because of the slight humidity and he can’t wait to be in bed later, running his hand through those curls in the coolness of his room at the condo. 

She loves that too, but she loves exploring the city with him even more. They walk up and down the beachfront, slow, lazy, watching boats and surfers and sea gulls. They stop at food trucks for snacks; tacos, frozen cherry slushies, cotton candy, snow cones, cheese pizza, nachos, something different everyday. She gets high off the sugar and junk and walks with a spring in her step. He holds her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, caressing her thumb, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. She smiles and swings her arm back and forth as they walk, keeping her hand clasped with his. 

She points at things she sees that excite her, people flying kites, the waves crashing into the shore, a new food truck they didn’t see from last time. She wants to race ahead to see the beach but he lures her in by keeping hold of her hand. Physical contact between them is his bread and butter. He misses her, craves her, is soothed by her. Her hold is impeccable. She tugs on his arm because she knows he’s holding her back on purpose, stealing a smug glance back at him, grinning wickedly, loving how they play like this. 

They shop. She buys him a leather strap bracelet similar to ones he already has. She takes her time wrapping it and securing it around his wrist, an excuse to let her fingers graze his skin. He does this to her when he puts necklaces and jewelry on her, going slow on purpose to savor his skin on hers. 

Their day in the sun wastes away before them so they head back to the condo. It starts to cool down so she throws a light sweater on. It’s beige and see through and still shows her tank top, a look he appreciates. They lay in the hammock attached to his porch, her legs stretched out and across his, tangling them up. She’s still restless, high on sugar and junk food, swinging her foot around causally, humming as they sway, breathing in the salty ocean air. This place makes her feel like she’s floating. She finds his hand and picks it up again, tracing her fingers over the lines on his palm, trailing down his wrist, over the new bracelet and up his arm. She repeats the motion, slow, tender, tickling. The wind kicks up as the sun starts to set and she shivers. He loves watching her fight off cold, shivering, snuggling, burying into hoodies and jackets and him, whatever it takes to find warmth. Of course he would never let her be cold for too long. He whispers “ready to go inside?” low, gruff, luring her into more affection. She pushes her forehead against his, nodding, wanting to feel more of his skin, seemingly touch starved, acting as if they are new to dating each other and exploring their affections. 

The sheets are cool, the air conditioned room is cool, his hands tuck around her back, laying her down gently on the bed. The blankets get wrinkled instantly. 

She taps the side of her neck because she wants kisses there. She giggles before his lips even touch her skin, knowing how it is going to feel. She adores that and can not wait for the feeling. He kisses her there, lightly on purpose to drive her wild, smiling against her skin when she squirms at the contact. 

He likes being tender with her, resting his hand on her stomach, slipping his hand under her shirt, fingers tracing her skin lazily, drawing shapes, invisible tattoos she’s too ticklish for, savoring those quiet giggles, finding pressure points and new tickle spots every time. She likes his hand on her hip, fingers pressing into her side, it keeps her still and makes her stomach tingle. He gets playful, letting his fingers trail along her waist. That’s much too tickly and she grabs at his hands, making him stop for a moment but giggling “do it again” and he obliges. She closes her eyes and scrunches her face, her giggles filling the room and his soul. As much as his touch tickles at first, she adjusts, savoring each time his fingers drag across her skin, lift away, then start again. 

She raises one arm and touches his cheek with the back of her hand, caressing soft spots, sighing, content. She traces her fingers along his jawline and chin, taking in his features. 

“When did you figure out you loved me?” she asked quietly. 

“The dumpster dive,” he answers without hesitation, kissing her wrist as she keeps her hand on his cheek. 

“Really?” she questions. 

“You were hilarious,” he explains “the creamed corn thing killed me, and you were beautiful and not afraid to get down and dirty, you had passion for the case, smart, hyper, gorgeous.” 

He kissed her wrist and up her arm in between each description of her and what he adored about her from that day and always. She smiles, reeling from his words. 

“How about you?” he asks now “when did you figure out you loved me?” 

She makes a face of mock concentration, as if she is struggling to remember but doing so to tease him, taking too long to answer on purpose. His hand that’s been resting on her stomach starts tickling there, wild and frantic. She squeals, throwing her head back, laughing hysterically, squirming and making a mess of the blankets. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you!” she cries out to him through her laughter and he stops tickling but keeps his hand resting on her stomach just to drive her crazy. 

“After Crenshaw,” she confesses breathlessly “after he attacked me and we saved Katie and we knew Ecklie would be okay, and when I saw you and how upset you were about everything and we recovered together, talking about work and you told me everything about your past and Warrick, all of it, I knew, I knew I couldn’t have gotten any luckier to find someone who loves and cares as much as you do.” 

She sighs, having said most of that in one breath, still fighting off giggles from his tickle attack. Nevertheless, she cuddles closer to him, craving his warmth and physicality. She starts tracing her fingers along his face again, sliding them under his chin to guide him closer and kiss him. 

“And look at us now,” he concludes, in a hushed tone that makes her shiver. 

“We’re the bees knees,” she giggles sweetly, curling her hands up to rest against his chest. 

He sees the collar of her sweater starting to slip off in all their playful chaos, seeing the strap of her tank top, letting his fingers graze the bare skin of her shoulder and arm, giving her goosebumps. They are locked in this heaven for the rest of the night, no distractions or interruptions, just purely them.


End file.
